Don't Say It
by LaurenEP18
Summary: This fic is dedicated to Cory Monteith. Kurt gets news of Finn's death and deals with it in the only way he knows how, shutting himself off... It works, until reality hits him at the worst possible time. Luckily, Blaine is always there for him.


"I call the shower!" Rachel exclaimed, rushing forwards through the door at top speed, Santana close on her heels, grumbling something in Spanish.

Kurt rolled his eyes fondly at his roommates as he turned and locked their sliding door. They had all just gotten back from seeing an off Broadway production of West Side Story and Kurt was still riding the post-play high. He fell back onto the sofa, listening to the sound of running water and a disgruntled Santana. Apparently Rachel had beaten her to the shower.

Kurt chuckled lightly, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. He never thought that living in New York with those two girls would work out as fantastically as it has. Sure, there were a few hiccups along the way, but he could honestly say he was content and happy.

His phone began to vibrate in his pocket once more. It had gone off a few times during the performance, but he'd ignored it in favor of finishing the show. He frowned when he noticed it was his dad calling. It was nearing midnight, which immediately flickered his nerves into a frenzy, "Hello?" He answered cautiously, a sinking feeling of worry settling into his chest.

There was a breath of relief on the other line, "Kurt." His father's voice sounded so… _broken._

Kurt immediately sat up from his lounging position on the couch, clutching the phone tighter to his ear, "Dad? What's wrong? Are you okay? Is-is it your heart? Did something go wrong with any of the tests? I mean, the doctor said you were cancer free and I-"

He was cut off by his father's tired voice, "No, Kurt. _ I'm_ fine." He put a strange emphasis on the word _'I'm'_.

He relaxed a bit though, knowing at least his dad was alright, "Okay…" He said slowly, "Well then, what's wrong?" he inquired, dreading the answer and hoping it wasn't anything too serious as he glanced at the clock, "It's past midnight…" He trailed off, waiting for his dad to speak.

"It's Finn." He choked out, voice breaking on his brother's name, "_God_- I hate to tell you this over a phone call-"

"_No._" Kurt stopped him suddenly, clenching his eyes shut so tightly it almost hurt, "Don't say it." He breathed weakly. If his dad didn't say the words, it wouldn't be true.

"I'm sorry, Kurt." His father continued, "Y-your brother's dead."

He could tell his dad was still speaking, he could feel the vibrations from his voice pulsing underneath his fingertips, but no sound was making it through to him. Kurt's eyes were open, staring at the tip of a pen lying, discarded on the edge of the coffee table. Suddenly, he heard a sharp noise next to him, only just realizing he'd dropped the phone. His eyes drifted to the broken device, eyeing the miniscule dent in the wooden floor from the impact his phone made with it.

Someone was now speaking to him. Santana, he registered, since she was now kneeling down in front of him. Her hands wrapped around his biceps, shaking him gently, but with enough force to snap his attention towards her. His mouth was dry, as were his eyes as he stared, unblinking at his friend.

"What's wrong with you, Hummel? This isn't funny." She glared at him, but he was able to detect the worried pinch between her eyebrows, the slight pout of her full lips, "Who's dead?" She asked incredulously.

It was then that he realized he'd been muttering under his breath, "He's dead." It didn't even occur to him that it was happening, his lips moving on their own accord. Santana repeated her question, a slight lilt of desperation to her tone. "Finn." He choked out, "Finn's dead." He said finally, hating how the words tasted on his tongue, bitter and wrong.

Santana fell back into a seated position on the floor, a single tear dripping from her mascara-coated eyelash and onto her cheek.

It was then that Rachel burst out of the steam-filled bathroom, humming along to some random song, "Bathroom's yours, Santana." She called out, shuffling into the main room in her plush pink robe as she rubbed a towel through her chocolate brown locks, "Santana?" She stopped short as she took in the scene in front of her, "Kurt?"

Kurt couldn't say anything. Literally, no words were formulating in his mind. All he knew was that his friend, his _brother_, was dead. He didn't even jump when he heard Rachel's shrill cry beside him where she collapsed at his side. His body moved on instinct, wrapping an arm around her as Santana spoke comforting words.

A numbing feeling filtered through his body, snaking through his veins and settling in his chest. This was how he protected himself, shielding himself from the hurt, the raw _pain_ that he knew he'd be in should he allow this shell he built around himself to crack.

Rachel's voice broke through his clouded mind after what felt like hours, peaking his attention, "I-I guess I sh-should call my dads… Get tickets to Lima." She sniffled, red-rimmed eyes searching Kurt's and then Santana's, "Y-you're both coming too, right?"

"Of course we're going, Berry." Santana nodded, dark eyes flickering to Kurt's for a moment before giving Rachel a reassuring smile.

"Kurt?"

Kurt turned to Rachel, plastering on a small smile, "Yeah." He said softly, "Yeah, I'm coming."

She nodded before shakily getting to her feet and hurrying off to her room. Santana stood and looked down at Kurt, "You alright?"

Kurt nodded, not trusting his voice to speak. She eyed him wearily before heading off to her room. He knew he needed to start packing, so he used all his strength to lift himself from the couch and went to his room.

It was an accident. Head on collision by a man that was too strung out to be behind the wheel. Kurt let his head fall back into the crevice between the seat and the plane walls, watching as the small town of Lima came into view. He wouldn't let himself think too much on the reason for his sudden flight back to the place he grew up. If he did, he wasn't sure he'd be able to contain himself. As it was, he could already feel the emotions clawing up his throat, desperate to escape, but he calmed them back with a low whine in the back of his throat. He had to be strong. He didn't want any attention put on him during such a time.

His body tensed as the plane descended, bumping along the runway and gliding into the gate. Kurt stood quickly, ignoring the phony, gleeful voice welcoming him to Lima, and helped Rachel and Santana get their luggage down. The three of them navigated the familiar airport at a slow pace, none of them really wanting to be there… not for this.

Rachel let out a small cry when her dads came into view. She bolted past the few people in the airport at such an early hour and straight into her parents' arms, sobbing loudly. Santana noticed her family off to the side and headed over to them, being ushered into the small group.

Kurt kept his eye out for the familiar capped head of his father only to find a short curly-haired boy in his place. Blaine smiled awkwardly, pulling his hand out of his oversized Dalton sweatshirt to wave him over. He looked like he hadn't slept at all that night. "Hey," Blaine greeted, "Your dad asked if I could come pick you up since he's with Carole…"

Kurt nodded, giving Blaine a tired smile, "Well, thanks. Sorry you had to come so early. We got the first flight we could all get on."

"It's not a problem at all." Blaine said as he grabbed one of Kurt's bags from his shoulder.

The two walked side by side to Blaine's car, no small talk being exchanged. They knew each other so well, they didn't feel the need to fill the silence. They sat in the parking garage for a while. Neither knew exactly how long. Time seemed to stand still as they watched families walking out of the airport, smiling and chatting amicably. Kurt noticed Blaine's hand was upturned on the center console, an offering. He wanted Kurt to have the option of taking his hand… He took it, needing the contact more than he cared to admit. Kurt was sure he was squeezing it to the point of him losing circulation, but Blaine never complained. He just put the car into reverse with his opposite hand and exited the parking garage, never once retracting his hand.

"Do you want me to go in with you?" Blaine asked once he pulled up into Kurt's driveway.

Kurt shook his head, "No. I should go by myself." He sighed, "Thanks."

Blaine squeezed his hand before helping Kurt grab his things from the trunk of the car. Kurt lugged his bags to the front door, turning to wave as Blaine pulled out of the driveway. He took a deep breath before opening the door. Kurt set his things down in the front foyer, wandering into the den. Carole was curled up on the couch, hugging a box of tissues with a blanket draped across her body. His dad was sitting forward in his recliner, his head in his hands.

"Dad?" He whispered, just loud enough that he wouldn't wake Carole. His father looked up and met his gaze with tired eyes. He took four long strides before pulling Kurt into his chest. Kurt tucked his face under his father's chin, reveling in the warmth and the smell of home.

His dad finally pulled away, wiping at his eyes, "How're you doin', son?" He inquired quietly, leading him back into the front of the house and grabbing one of Kurt's bags.

"As well as to be expected." Kurt replied, having a harder time holding in his emotions in such familiar surroundings.

His father didn't say anymore. He helped him bring all of his things into his room before pulling him into another tight hug. Kurt watched as he left the room, shutting the door behind him. He fell back onto his bed, letting his eyes wander over some of his things that he'd left behind.

As much as he hated being all _'woe is me'_, Kurt couldn't help but wonder _why._ Why was he always put down, having people taken away from him…? First was his mother when he was just a kid. Then he'd had to deal with the bullying, death threats, unwanted sexual encounters at school. Of course, on top of all of that, his father had a heart attack and went into a coma, which he barely made it out of. Not to mention the fact that he had prostate cancer. And _then_, when he's _finally happy,_ living in New York with a wonderful boyfriend- Kurt cut off his thoughts right there. Thinking of Blaine cheating on him would push him over the edge he was so precariously balanced on. It was already too much. But _now?_ Now Finn is gone. Sure their relationship was rocky in the beginning… but Finn was his brother, not by blood, but by love.

Starting to feel the emotions permeating his carefully constructed walls, he decided sleep would be better. Any reprieve from reality was better than this.

Still fully clothed, Kurt curled up amongst his pillows, forcing his mind to cooperate and allow him to get the sleep he so desperately needed.

The next three days, Kurt felt as if he was tiptoeing around his own house. Carole was a wreck, holing up in the den with several boxes of tissues, many discarded in a trashcan beside her fort of pillows. So of course it came as a surprise to see Carole showered and dressed in the kitchen, whipping up a batch of pancakes. She turned to give Kurt a small smile. They shared a knowing look with each other. Both understanding that the other was not alright, but there was nothing they could do about the situation except move along. His dad was sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of steaming coffee with a checklist and phone beside him. He'd been the lead on settling the funeral arrangements. The funeral that was set for that day.

Kurt forced down a helping of pancakes, though his stomach protested with vigor. As soon as he'd placed his plate in the sink and headed up to his room, he was in his en suite bathroom on his knees in front of his toilet, expelling the breakfast. He knew food wouldn't settle, not with his stomach twisting in knots.

After rinsing his mouth and taking a few deep, calming breaths, he stepped into his room. His suit was hanging on the door handle of his closet. As he tied his black silk tie in the mirror, he was brought back to the day of his mother's funeral, his father standing before him, tying his tie for him with his large hands.

He hadn't realized how long he had spent in his room until his father called for him downstairs, telling him it was time to go. A part of him wanted to hide under his covers, pretend that this was all a nightmare, but the logical side of him won out, forcing one foot in front of the other and leading him downstairs to part of his fractured family. One large, key member of their family wasn't present, and damn if it wasn't blatantly obvious.

The trio packed into the car, Kurt occupying the back seat, and traveled to the cemetery. As they pulled up, he could see several people mulling about near a tent in the center of the graveyard. Kurt steeled himself as they exited the car and walked up to the large group of people. Distant relatives on Finn's side of the family were all in attendance, along with the New Directions, original and new. Even Sue Sylvester was present, dressed in a black tracksuit, seated by Mr. Schuester. Kurt bit his lip, walking straight ahead to the first row of chairs in front of the large wooden coffin.

He sat between a weeping Rachel Berry and a sobbing Carole. Rachel was turned towards one of her dads, though her hand remained in Kurt's. Carole was leaning on his father, holding Kurt's other hand.

About half way through the funeral, Rachel had to get up and leave. Kurt watched her go, followed by her dads. His ears perked slightly at the mention of his name, "I've been told that Kurt had a few words to say." The old man managing the funeral said, stepping aside from the podium.

Kurt felt a warm hand clasp onto his shoulder from behind, thumb rubbing slightly along the material of his jacket before it was gone. As he stood, and turned to face everyone, he noticed Blaine moving to sit back, his eyes trained on him as if expecting he would break.

He pulled out his prepared speech, fiddling with the worn edges and reading over his messy scrawl, "My name is Kurt Hummel for anyone here that doesn't know." He started, clearing his throat before moving on, "Technically, Finn was my stepbrother. But to us, we were just as much brothers as those born from the same parents. He was one of my best friends and I loved him-" He stopped, his eyes flickering over to the large picture of Finn, wearing that same goofy smile that always seemed to be present on his face.

It hit him. The reality that he'd never see that smiling face look at him again. Knowing he'd never be able to hear his brother's voice over the phone, talking about his plans for the future… because his future was taken from him. He was gone and there was nothing he could do. Finn was dead.

He could feel his throat clenching as he face warmed, eyes tingling and burning as he stared at Finn's picture. The moment his lip began to quiver, an arm snaked around his waist, leading him away. His heart stuttered in his chest as he struggled to pull in a full breath. Kurt's legs gave out from under him, causing him to fall to his knees. He tucked his arms up and around his midsection as he leaned forward, the first tears falling. Kurt didn't have it in him to cover up his ugly cries, the pain ripping through his chest and piercing his head. He vaguely registered someone trying to get him up from the ground, so he took everything he had in him and stood, leaning onto the smaller person next to him for support. Kurt was lead to one of the cars and helped into the back seat, followed by the other person. Kurt opened his bleary eyes to see Blaine, watching him worriedly with his arms opened slightly. He dove into his chest, clutching the material of his jacket in his fists as he openly sobbed into Blaine's neck.

"He's really gone." He murmured as soon as he got a hold of himself. Blaine nodded against his head. Kurt sat back slightly, wiping embarrassedly at his eyes, "I-I'm sorry. I can't believe I just-"

"Hey," Blaine shushed him, cupping his face in his hands, "You don't always have to be strong, Kurt."

Kurt glanced down, hearing the blood rushing behind his ears as he noticed Carole being comforted off to the side, away from the main group, by his dad, "This wasn't supposed to happen to him. H-he was supposed to graduate a-and become a teacher, Blaine. He was going to-to…" He cried, a fresh onslaught of tears falling.

"But in his time here, he still made a difference, Kurt. He made an impact on _so_ many different people's lives." Blaine cradled him to his chest, shaking slightly as he too cried for his friend.

He wasn't sure how long they sat in the back of Blaine's car, but eventually, everyone had vacated the small area. There was one lone man, taking down the tent and hauling it off. Blaine reached down and handed Kurt a small bouquet of flowers, gesturing with the inclination of his head towards Finn's grave. Kurt took in a shaking breath before opening the door and stepping out of the car, immediately seeking Blaine's hand. The two walked back to the gravesite together. Kurt sank to his knees in front of the clean, new headstone, Blaine following suit next to him. He reached out and let his fingers trace along the engraved words.

**Finn Hudson**

**Beloved son, brother, and friend.**

"_**He's riding the midnight train going anywhere."**_

The line from _Don't Stop Believin'_ was Rachel's idea. He couldn't help but smile as memories of performing that song flooded his mind. God, he had such a crush on him. He let out a watery chuckle at that as he set the flowers in front of his brother's grave, "I love you, Finn." He whispered before standing up. He found Blaine's hand and weaved their fingers together, sighing heavily as they walked away from the cemetery and back to Blaine's car.

Blaine pulled into Kurt's driveway, shifting the car into park. Kurt bit his lip before turning to Blaine, "Can you come in with me, please?" He questioned meekly.

Blaine smiled warmly, "Of course." He agreed.

Kurt didn't know how he'd be able to move on from such a devastating tragedy, but he knew that he could only move forward. Finn wouldn't want them to mourn him, he'd want them to remember the happy times they'd shared and smile. It would take a while for that to happen, but he felt like he was moving in the right direction. Nothing would ever be the same again, the hole inside him wouldn't close up instantaneously… but nothing of that magnitude could. It could only heal over time until it became manageable. And he had a feeling Blaine would play a large part in the healing process based on the past few days. Maybe, just maybe, he'd be alright.

**===============================gLee==================================**

**This story is dedicated to Cory Monteith.**


End file.
